There was this artist named Yana
after inhaled marijuana
rather chomped pizza with extra cheese
than painted another masterpiece
Quaint her take on what’s Nirvana
Life vicarious
To bourgeois way he lives contrarious
prefers his days with crowd gregarious
Blåsut found fine just ain’t Campania
and nowhere a place like Scania
Let’s his old man live life vicarious
Heeding what others claim to know may just end up as our owned woe
Cognoscenti
with their acumen
twenty-twenty
us to illumine
Daze & frazzle us, and how
to the extent we allow
How come they know what’s what
that hangs on the wall
whether it’s art or smut
better than us all?
Heeding what others claim to know
may just end up as our owned woe
Say more with less by cutting to the core
Spouting loud & prolific
those quips brought up galore
be they seldom specific
can still inflict ‘earsore’
As quips propound they obfuscate
do not frame for clarity
but contrarily dissipate
lack focus on verity
While attempts quatrain verse
to cut to the core
to speak sparsely & terse
Such contrary chore …
… to fit into rhymed space
with some semblance of grace
Happily hounded
How happily I’m hounded
by persistent a muse
so gratefully astounded
enthusing out the blues
Am a tree happily barked up
by inspiration infused
It’s brimming over my cracked cup
foamy verbiage suffused
Verses may be pathetic
in pace peripatetic
The language mere cosmetic
both opaque & bathetic
Delivery homiletic
its effect anesthetic
While response found apathetic
why be apologetic?
Very few poets a Byron
or Shakespeare or Neruda
Very few women a siren
and few gurus a Buddha
So what? Won’t us short on talent
at least attempt to be gallant?
If stuck in Quatrain’s throes just change lanes to ‘loose reins’ Prose!
Yes, him: Grim
mean dim Eric
slim, bit prim?
Adverse to prose
stuck on verse?
Yes, kind of those
with rhymes terse
But if finding his Quatrain too arcane
who stops you switching to Prose’s loose reins lane?
I’m just someone who writes rhyming (terse or worse) verse
I’m no ‘poet’ hifalutin
mere ‘versifier’ callow
who does his own in foot shooting
writing rhyming verse shallow
A superficial spin drier
of phrases oddly acquired
Just dressed up in pretend attire
for yet a show uninspired
Proclaim prim ‘poetry fellows’:
“Let’s send that versifier
off to illiterate gallows
that foul, faux falsifier!”
But while ‘poets’ opine with such gumption
what if they’re just sloshing in presumption?
Erstwhile hushed times of lingering chimes
While in erstwhile hushed times
we were allowed to slow down
sounds of lingering chimes
listened to with smile, not frown
Those were the days of reflection
by humans of circumspection
Muse took off on a cruise
Mired in impotency pained
all inspiration gone
Of fresh material drained
my well too deeply drawn
Shaft been echoing eerily
after known reserves were drawn
Been reduced to watch wearily
depleted in guts & brawn
After short fused she took off my muse
on some perhaps booze induced type cruise
edited 04/04/24 0920
When disquietude brims, the outlook dims
Attempting life uncomplicated
in today’s screeching world unhinged
more so by each day, inundated
finding myself ever more fringed
Near drowning in dubiety
from which never sounds ‘all clear’
still lessens my anxiety
when in verse I persevere
Or when my disquietude brims
when shallow restlessness spikes
or whenever the outlook dims
I jump on one of my bikes
Quatrain strophes, pedal strokes allay
fleetingly nudge doomsday thoughts away